Leviathan T
by a knight who says NEEP
Summary: Kirk, Spock and McCoy are trapped on a planet obsessed with punishment and law. All is not as it appears. Chapter 6 uploaded now.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. (Yet ;) ). Recognised characters theirs, plot and new characters mine.

'Leviathan' is a treatise on governmental theory by Thomas Hobbes. (15?).

"Fascinating." Science Officer Spock, first officer of the USS Enterprise, bent intently over the scanner at his station. "A culture technologically advanced enough to have embarked on what we might term their 'electronic age', yet retaining a system of government essentially feudal in structure!"  
"In other words, a king but no candles." Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy translated dryly from the opposite side of the bridge.

"Doctor," the Vulcan glanced up, affronted: "I hardly think that synecdoche serves as accurate analysis of-"  
"Files regarding the Rythonians, Spock?" Captain James Kirk cut in mildly from the con before the exchange could erupt as a fully-fledged argument. Kirk suppressed a smile. He knew he commanded the best crew in Starfleet – no, make that in space – but the complex, competitive between these two senior officers sometimes required all his training in diplomacy. A series of clicks and beeps issued from the computer as Spock called up information:

"The Rythonians are a peaceful, self-contained people, inwards-looking but aware of the existence of other cultures. They are highly preoccupied with matters of order and governance, and render their allegiance unequivocally to a leader they term the Leviathan."  
"Leviathan?" clipped memories of old sea-tales flitted through Kirk's brain. "That's a familiar word. Isn't it some kind of sea-serpent, monster or…?"  
"The word, or a close parallel, is of earth origin." The Vulcan offered no theory of explanation – for now, he just stated the facts. "The ancient language of Hebrew, to be exact. A sea monster is one meaning – or more pertinently to this case, I think, an all-powerful ruler."  
"Previous contact with the Federation?"  
"Once scout party landed here, eight-point-four years ago. Their mission seems to have been largely unproductive – records are very fragmentary."  
"Well then, it's up to us to improve matters," Kirk grinned openly now. The old familiar passion of exploration, new territory (or almost new) rose up inside him like a familiar friend. "Lieutenant Uhura, any response to our hail?

"Receiving their signal now sir – I have a - Counsellor Marat - audio only." At a gesture from Kirk, the Bantu woman at the communications console broadcasted the channel to the bridge.

"Counsellor," Kirk stood reflexively despite the lack of visuals. "My name is Captain James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. We represent the United Federation of Planets."  
"We have had dealings with your people previously, Captain." The voice that filtered through the channel was surprisingly young – a light and pleasant tenor, exuding confidence without arrogance. Kirk deliberately withheld impression. "We understand your work is pacifist and exploratory."

"You are well informed, sir."  
"The Rythonians keep an extensive records archive." A note of cultural pride. "We are self-sufficient, Captain, but we are not isolationist. If you and a small contingent of your crew wish to beam down, I myself will receive you." The pleasant tone did not break, but the subtle stress on _small_ was perceptible. Kirk gestured to Uhura to close channel momentarily, and glanced in the direction of his second-in-command. Spock's gaze was narrowed, fixed on the terra-style globe that revolved on the viewscreen, as though he could draw information from thin air by the strength of his curiosity. McCoy looked mildly impressed:

"They sound like a reasonable people, Jim, if their delgate's anything to go by. Privacy isn't a crime."

"Agreed," Kirk said, dismissing the slight twinge of intuition against his better judgement, "You and Mr. Spock meet me in the transporter room in fifteen minutes. Channel open.

"Counsellor, we accept your offer with thanks. I will beam down with two of my senior officers shortly. We have your co-ordinates."

"That will be fine," said the Rythonian, and closed his end of the channel without signing off.

"Captain," Spock spoke up suddenly: "Recommendation. I have just discovered a post-script to the last party's findings. It seems the Rythonians once had contact with Romulans – aggressive – whom they now fear and abhor."  
"I told you they were sensible," said McCoy.

"The time is distant, but the cultural memory is very strong. Moreover, they do not appear aware of Vulcans."  
Kirk could see where this was going. Clear racial similarity between Vulcans and Romulans marked their common roots, despite totally opposing philosophies. "Alright Mr. Spock, disguise yourself – I don't suppose there's time for anything other than a hood." Warning hunch – would it not be more sensible just to leave Spock behind? No, Kirk decided, it would not. Somehow he was convinced: he was going to need Spock on this one. 'We can always beam up at the first sign of trouble' he reassured himself, and called Mr. Scott to the con.


	2. Chapter 2

Three shimmers of light hovered briefly above the earth on the surface of Rython. The shimmers resolved into two human forms and the ascetic form of the Vulcan. Spock and McCoy immediately engaged their tricorders to gather readings on the atmosphere and geographical formations.

It was a strangely nostalgic place – reminiscent of the last town-and-country settlements on earth before industrial takeover. And yet not so. Ordered rows of white-washed buildings, tailored fields of grass – somewhere a radio or other primitive transmitter broadcasted softly. Fat green birds clicked about in someone's yard.

"It would appear that the general populace is not party to the techonological advancements of the higher echelons."  
"Or want to be," the doctor finished Spock's observation with a gesture to one of the houses. A small and childish face appeared momentarily in the open doorway, fascinated by the beam-down. Now an adult turned the small one firmly aside, exuding distrust and distaste. There was no time for a good look at the Rythonians, but they weren't left to wonder –

"Gentlemen," the voice from the audio channel was instantly recognisable, and the body suited it well. Marat of Rython was young, dark eyed, graceful, with a regal bearing but an easy, open smile. Small, rounded antennae, less conspicuous than the Andorian, protruded from the hair on either side of his scalp. He strode forwards, blue robes of office swishing around him. A small group of Rythonians, also in blue robes, hovered politely behind him.

Kirk inclined his head. "I'm Captain James T. Kirk; this is my first officer Mr. Spock and Chief Medical Officer Dr. McCoy."

"You are welcome. I believe this is correct." He shook hands with the two humans, then – did something, a shadow, pass over the warm eyes as he confronted Spock? Kirk briefly wished they'd had time for a better disguise that simply concealing Spock's ears. At least the cloak was not out place – Rython was cold – and the Rythonians themselves were far from a uniform appearance. Generally humanoid, antennaie aside, they were unmatched in shape, size and feature. Of Marat's contingent, one was as short as a dwarf and more frail than a human child, another towered six inches over the delegate and bore a blue tinge to his skin. A third – female this time – stood at least six foot, with narrow bones and long ice-white hair bound behind in an ornate braid. Her eyes were shocking violet.

"My second, Lani," Marat introduced her.

"Welcome to Rython," the woman smiled. "We will now escort you to the Halls of Governance, and seat of Leviathan P."

When the name of the ruler was spoken, all the Rythonians bowed their heads and briefly crossed their palms across their breasts in a gesture of reverence. The landing party imitated hastily. Marat and Lani led towards the central settlement: here, the buildings were larger and more imposing. Order reigned in the streets – clean, calm, functional order – traders and craftsmen, parents and children. Houses, halls, shops, and administrative buildings were laid out in a regular pattern, interspersed with groomed areas of parkland. Under his breath, Kirk murmered,

"Beta III."  
"No Captain," said Spock. "The patterns of life bear a certain similarity to that computer-regulated society, but this is not a collective consciousness. The Rythonians are individuals – they exhibit idiosyncrasies of manner, movement, speech-"  
"But where's their _vitality_, Spock? Aside from Marat and his people, you'd think they went out of hteir way to keep their heads down and ignore us."  
"They are, as you observe, a private people doctor."

"There's privacy, Mr. Spock, and then there's just plain_ rude_."

"Look there." Kirk gestured surreptitiously to the corner of a street, where a small group of strong-looking Rythonians stood and watched, making no attempt to conceal the electronic weapons at their hips. "Law enforcement officers, wouldn't you say? Looks like peace comes at a price."  
"When didn't it, Jim?"

"The Halls of Governance," Marat announced, turning round with a smile and a flourish. The edifice in front of them recalled, if anything, an extremely large and elaborate guildhall, composed of many quarters. But a well-guarded one, Kirk noted silently, observing the armed guards and tall metal rails surrounding the whole of the structure. "I must ask," Marat continued seriously, "that you approad the Leviathan with the utmost reverence. He – or she – is the pillar of our peaceful society, the very glue that holds our people together."  
"We have encountered monarchies before," said Spock politely, and Marat shot him a look that was now unmistakeable – cool, controlled dislike.

"I'm sure you have, sir," said Lani, "however, our system is more – complex – than the primitive forms of monarchy."

Kirk concealed a double-take as they crossed the guarded threshold. Contrast could be highly effective. Gone were the dark, sombre tones of the outer walls – this whole chamber was adorned in something like white marble. A sweeping archway opened to a highly polished walkway – at the far end, a dais was raised high before deep blue drapes. Wide, high windows and the sheer expanse of the chamber gave an impression of emptiness – though in fact guards and diplomats stood quietly either side of the walkway, and silenced as the visitors entered.

Marat and his people walked solemnly down the carpet and dropped to their dais before the dais, making the palms-breast salute. The landing party did likewise.

"You may rise," came the voice, and upon obeying, Kirk got his first good look at Leviathan P of Rython.

'Mortal God' seemed hardly and appropriate title for the pale, drawn-looking individual swamped by his weighty robes. A great ceremonial seat made the monarch yet smaller and frailer – her feet were nowhere near the dais. At his right hand sat a handsome, strong-looking man with some resembelance of cheek and jawbone – presumably the heir apparent. The voice that gave orders was weak, hoarse and papery. Judging the age of alien beings was never an accurate science – but this one, Kirk guessed, was either very old or very very ill.

"You are permitted in Rython. I am Leviathan P, Mortal God of the Rythonians. I wield both power and peace. Name yourselves."

They did so, though the monarch undoubtedly well knew, and Leviathan P nodded. His eyes closed, briefly, as though the effort of the ceemrony tired him. McCoy shifted uncomfortably beside Kirk, radiating frustrations. The doctor had never been for formalities, and probably considered it some kind of professional insult for this to proceed at the expense of a person's health. Kirk transmitted him a silent message: _'Don't. Say. Anything.'_

"We will have rooms assigned you in the Halls, which you may use as a base for your research. You may have limited - use of the archives and –"  
An alarm sounded. The noise was shrill and horrible amplified by the hall's expanse, and Spock codl not prenevet a brief expression of pain as his Vulcan ears were assailed. Ordered chaos reigned. Guards barked orders, troops moved, the monarch had abruptly stood –

"Theft attempt, courtyard C," snapped a blue-sashed Rython, engaged with a two-way radio – the landing party shared a few raised eyebrows.

"Must be some theft," said McCoy.

A large continguent of the guard marched swiftly for the exit, the Leviathan assisted by an aide at either side. No-one addressed the visitors, so they followed at a surreptitious distance. The procession emerged in a yard, where a female Rythonian, appearing scarcely an adult, was dragged forcilbly over the paving slabs, begging for mercy. Kirk felt his fists clench involuntarily.

"Prime Directive," murmered Spock.

"Elsania, daughter of Han," intoned a blue-cloaked Rython. This one wore a silver band around his forehead, twining intricately round his antennae. "You stand accused of theft of another's rightful property-"  
"Please! I have a son!"  
"Theft is in breach of Contract. This is contrary to the Law of the Book."

"But we have to eat-"  
"Silence!" One of the guards hit Elsania soundly across the face. A thin stream of orange blood trickled from her nose as she hung her head.

"Theft is contrary to the Order of Society," the decorated one went on, "The right to property is a sacred right which the Leviathan upholds. So it is written in the Book." By this time, a large crowd of Rythonians had gathered in the street beyond the railings and were gaping silently at the scene. "Sovereign," the speaker turned to the monarch, making the gesture: "What is your will with the girl?"  
"She dies," said the papery voice, tired-sounding. The girl looked bitterly resigned. As the landing party looked on in horror, the two guards marched the prisoner towards one wall of the courtyard. To his revulsion, Kirk realised the wall was stained and smeared with faded orange blood.

"This is barbaric!" McCoy exclaimed. "What did she steal, a loaf of bread?"

"We must not interfere," Spock said without infelction. Kirk gritted his teeth, knowing his First Officer was right. Every starship captain in the Federation swore to sacfrice his life, his ship and his crew before violating the Prime Directive of non-interference. "This is their way. The girl knew the law when she broke it. To carry out the sentence is their right."  
"We can't just-:  
"Correct, doctor. We cannot." The un-Vulcan interruption conveyed the strain Spock felt with them. The prisoner was set against het wall, hands cuffed to rings – no longer resistant, she regarded the guard opposite with dull yellow eyes. "Tell my sister to care for my son," she said, "Her name is Elsai. We live in the market quarter." Some murmers of acknolelsdgement from the crowd. Then the guard raised the weapon and fired a single shot between the prisnoers' eyes.

Death was death. They'd seen it in a thousand maniesations, many more horrible than this. Kirk guessed that the girl knew no more of hers than any enemy disintegrated by a phaser. The gore and spray and colour were strictly for the edification of the crowd. But death was death. Still.

"What were we saying earlier," Kirk said quietly to McCoy who was frozen next to him, "About peace coming at a price?"


	3. Chapter 3

Rhythmic trills built up a pleasing melody of dance, enjoyment, courtesy – the quartet of chamber musicians knew their art and their business. The food bore some semblance to earth agricultural produce , and the conversations of the Rythonians offered valudbale insight. Were it possible of the landing party to ignore the memory of the aftneroon's brutal killing, this would have tanked amongst the more pleasant and instruvice meals that Kirk had been party to since entering deep space. Spock was somewhat less well accommodated – the Rythonians apparently had no concept of vegetarianism, and it was difficult for him to avoid all meat dishes without arousing interest.

"My friend has an intolerance to many foods," the doctor imporivised, and most Rythonians seemed content to take him at his words. Like most non-Darwininan cultures, Rythonians held their healers in special esteem ,and were prepared to accept McCoy as an honorary member of this guild. Most but not all –

"Indeed?" said Marat, turning a smile on Spock that somehow did not reach his eyes, "How inconvenient. And it appears that these – intolerances apply mainly to dishes of the flesh."  
"I am adjusted quite adjusted, sir." said Spock.

Marat watched the Vulcan for a long moment. Then he stood, and leaning across the table, filled Spock's glass with a golden liquid from one of the decanters. "Try the _seret_,' he advised pleasantly, eyes not leaving Spock's – "I think you will find it much like the better of your terran wines."

Kirk winced. Consupmtion of alcholol was also forbidden to Vulcans, due to its tendency to mar the thinking abilities. Thankfully many Rythonian's kept their various headdresses on at the table, so no one had remarked much on Spock retaining the hood….but if, Marat or any other Rythonian had knowledge of Vulcan culture, the disguise would now be growing uncomfortably transparent. 'But if they know Vulcans, we're okay,' Kirk reminded himself. 'It's Spock being mistaken for a Romulan that we're worried about.'

Spock politely rejected the drink and Marat shrugged and smiled. "As you will, sir." He sat down and finished his meal. The picture of innocence again. Had anything just happened, anything at all, or was he giving undue weight to some irrational dislike of this too-smooth Rythonian diplomat?

"…to be superbly efficient."

Kirk was drawn back to the conversation. Someone had refered to the afternoon, and now McCoy was asking,

"You _always _execute lawbreakers? For any breach at all?"

"Any breach of the sovereign contract," Lani said. "It's terms are very clear. Imporeper behaivouis, not actual breach, is punishable by less severe penalites. As you see," she smiled as though personally proud of the fact: "Actual breach is _extremely _rare."

"But you _asked_ the Leviiath – excuse me sir – but you were _asked_ to dicate the punishment."

"The Liviathan is above the law," Marat informed them. "He or she may revoke or change the penalties at any time. So it is written in the Book."

"The Book," said Kirk thoughtfully, setting his glass down. "Is it permitted for us to see this book?"  
Glances.

"It is permitted to look – not to touch," said Lani carefully. "After the meal I will take you to the Chamber of the Book."

A pedestal sat in the centr of the hall, srurrouunded by a curtain. The reast of the chamebre was dim, lit by pale bar-lights set unobstruisvely in the alcoves/

"The Book," said Lani, studying the faces, "Is a sacrted tract. "Of course there are many duplicates," Lani said quietly. "This is what you might call – a relic. We reverence it. Like many peoples, the Rythonians had their time of warfare, more intense perhaps because of our disparate origns. That is far in the past now, but memory of terror is long. The Book taught us how to become one, gave us the rules for order and survival. The Book showed us the way."  
"……," Spock said so quietly that only the Captain herad him. Kirk remembered well that other planet which had taken it's societal blueprint from a book. Unfortunately, that book had happened to be ………..restulting a brutal and anarchic culture built on faction wars. A grave reminder of the consequences of culture contimantion.

Lani stepped up to the cutain and drew the curtains aside. in a clear case, set in velvet, an ancient text rested. Real paper, bound with leather so old it was flaking and falling to pieces. On the cover, imprinted in gold leaf, were the words:

"LEVIATHAN"

and underneath

"THOMAS HOBBES"

followed by several Rythonian letters – presumably the name of the translator.

"Behold the Book," said Lani quietly.

"Fascinating," said Spock.

Cruising in orbit above the sphere of Rythonia, Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott surveyed the bridge from the con.

"Anything on sensors, Mr. Chekov?" asked the Scotsman slightly impatiently – command was all very well, but the engines of the Enterprise were the first love of Scott's life, from whom he chafed to be away for long periods. Thus far, the landing party had reported every four hours on schedule, and space above was silent.

"Nothing sir," said the young Russian ensign, then "Sir! Mr. Scott! I just read sharp energy fluctuation – then the reading wanished."

Scott felt the eyes of the bridge crew converge on him, waiting. Energy fluctuations were hardly unusual in deep space. But Rython was situated uneasily close to the border of the Neutral Zone, and such fluctuations before now had heralded the approach of a Romulan vessel. The Romulans, a savage, imperial and highly advanced race, had long since developed a cloaking device to disguise their ships from sensors. But maintaing the cloak took enormous output of energy, and such fluctuations had betrayed a Romulan Warbird before now.

"Keep monitoring, Mr. Chekov," said Scotty evenly.

"Leviathan." Spock addressed the two people closest to him in the world as though he were leading a symposium. "Sixteenth century earth treatise by the Englishman, Thomas Hobbes. A theory of government, based on the premise that man is naturally brutal and anarchic, and, without firm ruling, will inevitably exterminate his fellow humans in the struggle to survive. The phrase used by Hobbes was 'perpetual war' of every man against every other. The solution to this – Hobbes maintained, the only solution – was to elect a single sovereign responsible for the preservation of order at any cost. The sovereign's word would be irrefutable law, and he or she might inflict any punishment considered appropriately – in Hobbes' time and the Rythonians', usually summary execution. The citizens agree together to obey the every ruling of the sovereign – hence the notion of a contract – in return for security and the restraint of offenses."  
"Grim," said McCoy.

"Indeed. Grim, pessimistic and authoratiran – and often, ruthlessly effective. Your own earth history bears numerous examples to a greater or lesser effect. I believe that you only abolished the death penalty in-"  
"Thank you, Mr. Spock." Kirk got up and paced restlessly across the room. Each landing party member had been assigned an individual chamber, but Kirk had summoned both his officers for discussion as soon as they could reasonably be excused. "So where do we go from here?"

"As I see it, we continue our mission of observation, Captain. You remember the Prime Directive."  
"But all this is a result of cultural contamination in the _first _place," McCoy pointed out. "Did you see in the market square? There were _guillotines,_ Spock, and God knows what those other devices-…were talking about public torture." Marat and Leni had afforded them a fuller tour of the city after the viewing.

"I believe you have a saying on earth, doctor: two wrongs do not make a right. Besides, I understand it, instances of brutal execution as return for minor offences is relatively infrequent."  
"So that makes it alright, does it?" McCoy bristled. "That makes it moral?"  
"I prefer not to indulge in metaphysical speculation."

A soft knock at the door. Kirk frowned and gestured them quiet, then went to open it.

A small hurricane assailed him.

That was what it felt like for an instant, before Kirk realised he was sitting on the floor with Marat's arms around him, one hand clamped across his mouth.. Spock had immediately moved to restrain the Rythonian, but Marat had ducked the nerve pinch. Now he stood, drawing the Captain with him – Kirk obeyed in case of a weapon, closed the door behind them slowly and carefully, then –

released Kirk.

In seconds the Rythonian was pinned against the wall, Kirk's hand at his throat. Marat grinned –

"Admirable reflexes, Captain," he rasped.

"I'm waiting for an explanation."  
"It's coming, I assure you. First, I must ask you to trust me."  
"That's quite a tall order, considering."

"Is it?" Kirk could feel the tendons in the throat pulse through Marat's hot skin, the voicebox straining. Despite himself, he relaxed the pressure just slighltly. "If I wanted you dead you'd be dead now. You think that I don't have a weapon? Then, when you opened the door, I could've shot you and both of your men before you could know what hit you."  
"Why the attack?"  
"I had to get in, fast. I don't have clearance for this part of the Halls. If I'm seen I could be shot on sight."  
Kirk released the Rythonian and slowly backed away. Three on one and no weapon revealed, he reasoned: it didn't get too much safer. Marat made no threatening moves, but lifted a hand to rub at his throat, wincing.

"I've come to ask for your help."  
"You've got a funny way of going about it."  
"Bones," Kirk reprimanded. So he'd been right – there was much more to Marat than met the eye, and he wanted to hear the rest of this.

"I want you to help me save Rython. Help us."  
"Who's us?"  
"My comrades and I."  
"An underground," said Spock. "Very common in dictatorial societies."  
"Yes – underground." Marat's eyes flicked to the Vulcan briefly. "Rebels. Call us what you will. My brothers and sisters have fought for generations for the overthrow of the tyrants. What you see is no representation of Rython. P is old and feeble. His power is waning – but in his youth –" Marat closed his eyes, shuddered. "Rython was a place of terror. What was intended to maintain our safety – the sacred tracts of the Book – can be twisted – parodied beyond belief when one individual is sovereign. And there is worse to come.

"Telthan. The next Leviathan of Rython. He is – a tyrant – a monster – she delights in cruelty, and torture. The years of his reign will be more terrible than the Wars Before the Awakening. And the people are blind to this truth."

"What are you asking of us?" Kirk asked.

"There is not much time," said Marat desperately. "Leviathan P is dying. I can say no more here. I have already said too much. You must follow me."  
"It could be a trick, Jim," Spock cautioned.

"It could be our only chance to help the last survivors of the true Rythonians," Kirk answered: "Those not affected by the contamination."  
"You understand," Marat broke into a brilliant smile. "Now, I will let you search me. You see I am unarmed, and I have come to you at my own peril. If you refuse I will be powerless to force you."

The landing party shared a silent exchange. All knew the decision was made. Once Kirk decided a path was the _right _one – as Spock would say, metaphysical speculation – they knew they would embark upon it regardless of danger - or logic.

"We'll go," Kirk said to Marat, and the Rythonian nodded.

"Wait here," Marat instructed, "I'm going to scout the corridor. The guards pass by that opening intermittently on their watch route. When signal you, follow my voice."


	4. Chapter 4

All hell broke loose.

The bridge crew of the USS Enterprise were rocked and ricocheted by an ear-splitting explosion; several spilled out of their seats, others grasped hard at hteir consoles. Red-white ribbons of streaming flame spurted against the viewscreen. The klaxon wailed.

"Damage report Liuetenant!" Scotty barked, even as his mind registered dimly: _Romulans. Damn them, _eyes searching the screen for the hard predatory lines of the enemy vessel. They must've unlcoaked to fire that, they must've-

"Hard hit, sir! Severe damage to aft thruster one, casualties on decks six and seven! Hull plating torn open, explosions in several sectors –"  
A second blast rocked the ship.

"Ve cannot take another hit like dat sir!" Chekov was manning Spock's station.

"Do we have warp?" Scott demanded.

"Aye sir, engineering reports they can give us warp one – faltering though –" Scott's heart wrenched for his engines.

"We have the Romulan cruiser on sensors sir –"  
"Fire photon torpedoes! Short blast! Don't lose the warp drive, for God's sake –" 'We'll have to get out of here.' Scott's mind flashed momentarily to the landing party on the surface – his captain, his commander – but if he didn't preserve the Enterprise, he'd be no good to any of them.

"Lieutenant, can we hail the Captain?"  
"No sir, the channel is down."

"Retreat," Scotty snapped. "Any heading."  
"Sir-"  
"_Do_ it, helm!"

"Aye sir."

'_All we can do now is back off and assess the damage.' _They could attempt to send a message back to Federation HQ, obviously, but the challenge of packagaing a signal discreetly enough to bypass the Romulans, and yet be discerned by a Federation this far into deep space were very slim. As usual, the Enterprise was reliant on herself and on her crew._ 'We'll be back for the others,' _Scotty promised himself._ 'Soon.'_'

"We have not come to this decision lightly. Desperate times call for desperate measures." Marat was standing in front of a diagram of the Halls of Governance. Underground had been right. The rebels, in fact, met deep below the earth in an abandoned storage area. Passages led from the Halls, through the earth, to emerge in this dismal haven. Convenient, Kirk noted, as many of the rebels seemed to hold office for the Leviathan – Leni was here, as were several other blue-robed Rythanians. Kirk counted twenty in all, although Makat assured him there were more, not every comrade could practically be present at any gathering. Now Makat was outlining their plan in a calm, clear voice.

The plan was tyrannicide.

"Well?" Leni demanded of the visitors when the talk was finished. "What do you think? Myself, I would vote for slow poison. Less suspect."  
"But more time to be discovered," said another dissident.

"And of course, there's the problem of succession," a third said – Kirk recognised the black-haired woman from the Leviathan's dining table. "We have, at present, no way of assuring our leader is good, just, or worthy. This is simply emergency strategy."  
"Do you feel no revulsion upon breaking the most sacred of your laws?" asked Spock with genuine curiosity. "The Book would surely condemn this act most ruthlessly."  
"The Book has been abused," said Leni bitterly. "This is not the way. Makat sees far and deeply – he is the greatest of all of us," she shot their leader a look of admiration.

"We haven't agreed to help you," Kirk cautioned.

"But you would not betray us either."  
Kirk glanced at his friends: "No. We wouldn't. That would accomplish nothing."

"And there will be no need for you to," came a sudden voice, obscured by the crackle of static. Colour drained simultaneously from twenty Rythonian faces. Makat went rigid as board. All eyes were turned to the source of the sound – a small radio transmitter, Kirk realised, concealed in the brick of the wall. Following the sound, he ran his hand along the surface till he found the crack, and levered the stone out of place. Leni sat down hard.

"Nobody move!" the transmitter barked. "We have you surrounded. Resistance will be met with instant death." The cellar door opened. A group of armed guards burst in through the doorway like a mechanised spurt of energy: the landing party drew their phasers automatically. Several rebels produced electronic weapons, and few bursts of fire were exchanged. But the guards were elite – in split seconds, the dissidents and landing party each felt the barrel of a weapon pressed to his temple, and surrendered their weapons.

"Search them," the iron voice said, and Kirk's eyes were drawn to the doorway. There stood Tethan, tall and powerful and smiling – cruel lights in his pale eyes flicked over the room. His guards dealt out indiscriminate kicks and punches. Tethan smiled.

"Scum," he addressed them and spat on the floor. Kirk's phaser and communicator were taken. Tethan gestured for the prisoners to be escorted out. As the landing party passed, his eyes flicked over them and his mouth moved in a sneer of disdain.

"Arrogance," he said.

Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Leni and another rebel named Shaltan sat and waited in the confines of their cell. If surface Rython was cold, the underground was a good ten degrees colder, and the flagstone floor, lack of lights and persistant drips did nothing to alleviate the atmosphere.

"Interesting. It appears that the methods of punishment favoured by the Rythonians take their precedent from the same era as their sacred text."  
"Must you, Spock?"  
Makat was gone.

"They won't kill us at once," said Leni. "They will torture us first." Her voice had turned hollow, and hse gripped the bars, staring dejectedly up the corridor. "They will want to know who the others are. And we'll tell them. We'll talk."  
Guards parolled intermittently, this corridor and another. All the rebels had been taken and confined, and far away, Kirk believed he could hear the grind of machinery. Then the screams began. The Rythonians shivered, the guards turned in the direction of the sound – and in the moment of their distraction, McCoy gestured to Kirk and Spock to bend close and watch. He glanced once at the guard's back – still turned –

- then handed Kirk his communicator.

"Bones you're a genius!" Kirk exclaimed quietly. "How did you….?"  
"Didn't do anything, Jim. Looks like the guard assigned to search me was a dissident himself. He let me keep this, and my phaser and tricorder – though I can't think what good those'll be…if that's not evidence for the existence of dumb luck, Mr. Spock, then I don't know what is."

Meanwhile, Kirk had flipped open the communicator and was attempting to tune it.  
"Scotty, come in. Kirk to Enterprise."  
"Captain, let me try." Spock took the communicator and fiddled with the controls. Then he frowned. "The channel is open. They are not receiving us."  
"Why not!" Kirk exclaimed futilely, but their conversation was cut off. The guards were in motion – dragging the limp forms of prisoners back to their cells – amongst them was Makat.

The Rythonian bore all the signs of brutal, primitive torture. Semiconscious, bleeding heavily from wounds to head and limbs and torso, two guards supported him into the cell and then dropped him, locking the door behind them. McCoy bent over the fallen man, and, once the guards had passed, he set his tricorder to mute and scanned the Rythonian's body.

"Oh my God," he said.

"What?" Kirk demanded. During their years in space the doctor had seen, treated and lost patients to injuries more hideous than the Captain could've imagined. Internal bleeding, broken bones should come as no shock to him.

"Oh my God," said McCoy again, still staring at the screen.

"What?"

"That's impossible."

"Bones, _what?"_

The surgeon turned and addressed his captain, a strange look in his eyes. "Jim, Makat has more layers than we realised. Not that that's even his name."  
"What are you talking about?"  
"This isn't a Rythonian, Jim. It's a Romulan spy."


	5. Chapter 5

My thanks to Miz Perfect, T'Lyra and Ariennye Dhivae Argelia for the encouraging reviews. I'm so glad you're enjoying it. This is the last-but-one installment of 'Leviathan T' - the conclusion will be up shortly. x.

"The Romulan ship is still in the wicinity, sir," Chekov reported tensely. "I am tracking the fluctuations."  
"Cat-and-mouse," said Scotty grimly. Several delicatedly coded distress signals had produced no response, either hostile or friendly. "No doubt they see us too. We have to get close enough to the planet to contact the landing party. How are the phaser-banks looking?"  
"75 power and increasing."  
"But sir," Lietenant Uhura turned around at her console, "Even if we could get close enough to contact the Captain – we couldn't beam them up yet. Transporters still haven't come back online…" Scotty grimaced in frustarion. If he was down there, he knew, he could have the platforms up and running in half the time…

"Mr Sulu," he made a command decision, "You have the con. I'll be in engineering." The bridge crew exchanged glances. Commander Scott hadn't gained a reputation as a miracle-worker for nothing. It might be possible – just possible – to ward off the Romulan vessel long enough to beam up the party, then vanish – if only they could creep in close enough to contact the captain.

Cat and mouse.

"Surgical enhancements are brilliant," McCoy murmured, clinically binding the Romulan's deeper wounds with material torn from Leni and Shaltan's cloaks. He had judged the spy's injuries not to be life-threatening, but the Romulan breathed shallowly and his skin was clammy and cold. The surgeon was at a loss. Marat – or not-Marat – ought to be recovering, instead he seemed to be slowly worsening, and he had not yet spoken.

"Blood composition is altered to approximate the Rython's colour," he explained to Kirk. "The antennae are attachments. And the ears, of course – clipped." This wasn't the first time they'd seen a Romulan surgically disguised, but was possibly the most impressive.

"There is no point," Leni sat against the wall and stared into space, shocked. "There is nothing left."  
"The revolution was a lie." Shaltan appeared to be holding back tears. He kicked the wall in anger.

"The revolution isn't a lie!" Kirk urged.

"Marat was the revolution. He taught us. And he was lying."  
"What sort of things did he teach you?"

"He said there could be peace – without fear. Order – without death. A life – without the tyrant watching over us…"  
"Wasting your breath, Captain," a voice rasped. Kirk turned to see the spy had raised his head and managed to leer, horribly: Marat and yet not-Marat. "They are weak, these Rythonians. They are nothing. Without their precious leader, they would have been directionless, frantic….easy prey for the empire. And you – you know I would have had you murder the Leviathan. Your risk instead of…mine." The last word forced a gasp of effort from the Romulan, whose eyes widened in pain. McCoy looked down on his patient dispassionately:

"I'd save my strength if I were you. I don't know what your problem is, but it doesn't look good."

"You don't know-!" the spy choked a bitter laugh out. "I am a Romulan. I have failed. Yet you still wonder why I am dying? You are idiots."  
"Poison," Kirk realised suddenly.

"Dissoluble capsule," the spy wheezed, "Impossible for you to pick up, I imagine. So many chemicals are running in my bloodstream at this moment, gentlemen….a true feat of our scientists. Well, I have failed. Here I end." A vicious flash of his eyes. McCoy stood up and put away his tricorder, always disgusted at the decision of suicide. The Romulan's eyes scanned the cell – and they settled on Spock. Viciousness twisted his features. An ancient, final passion, not unfitting for a Romulan, brought life flashing back to his face. Racial hatred. The Romulan drew breath. Then,

"DEVIL! FIRE DEVIL!" he shouted. Guards, roused by the noise, hurried up to the bars – "Take that one! Search him!" the spy screamed, pointing. "He is one of the ones from the sky – Fire Rainers!" He fell back on the ground. And died.

Guards clattered into the cell, and two of them seized Spock by the arms and yanked him to his feet.

"No! Wait! He's not a Romulan!" Kirk cried. The guards paid no attention, pulled Spock's hood down, and gasped and drew their weapons at the sight of his pointed ears.

"Fire Devil," one muttered, gruffly. "I thought they were only a legend."  
"So they're back," the second guard narrowed his eyes, angry, fearful: "Well, bring him. We'll hunt out the rest."

Spock didn't try to reason with them: logically, a waste of energy. Parting words would have been meaningless between the landing party. The words of eyes sufficed.


	6. Chapter 6

Okay here's the conclusion. Enjoy!

Beep.

"The communicator!" Kirk checked briefly nearby guards, then turned into a corner to answer the hail.

"Scott to landing party."  
"Where have you been!"  
"Run in with the Romulans Captain," Scotty answered grimly. "He's forced to retreat. We got in a decent shot just now – Sulu's earned his pay for the week sir – but he'll be back afore long wi' the cavalry."

"Scotty, can you lock on to us and Mr. Spock?"  
"Not at the moment, sir. Transporters are still down. We're workin as fast as we can-"

"Make it faster. Kirk out." As a guard paced back up the corridor.

"That is not a Fire Rainer," said the guard without inflection, as he two of his people released Spock's limp form in the doorway of the cell.

"I could have told you that," snarled Kirk and gripped the bars: "I did tell you."

McCoy and Shaltan caught the Vulcan and laid him carefully on the floor. Spock appeared much as Marat had – bruised and bleeding, green blood streamed from a large wound in his side and a smaller one to his forehead. Kirk knelt next to his first offiver and took Spock's face in his hands. The Vulcan stirred and uttered something in his native tongue. His eyelids fluttered but then closed again. McCoy was stemming the blood from his ribs with Leni's cloak – he gestured Kirk to take over this task so he could see to the head wound.

"Concussion's preventing the healing trance," he explained tersely. Kirk nodded, suppressing a rage of wave against the Rythonian guards. 'These people are barbarians," he thought irrationally: 'What is this but a witch-hunt?'

"Looks worse than it is," McCoy said at last with an adible sigh of relief. "Besides the cuts, three ribs are broken and he's moderately concussed. The lung didn't pierce thank God. Right now we need to control the bleeding and keep his temperature up." Kirk nodded, understanding the seriousness of this last proviso. Vulcan-norm body temperauter was significantly higher than human. Spock was cold – he had felt that on contact – and if shock set in he would be in danger. McCoy covered as much of him as possible with the cloaks while retaining pressure to the gashes. Kirk stood up and faced the Rythonians. Leni still sat against the wall, knees drawn up, staring hopelessly into space.

"This is your perfect society?" Kirk spat. "This is order?"

"This is…" Leni sounded lost.

"Leni listen. You have to fight this. You and Shaltan and the rest of the underground," he went over and seized her shoulders. "Those things Marat said – they were truths, even if he believed he was lying. Why do you think you believed them? Why did they mean so much? Because you are the last of the true Rythonians. You have to save your people."  
"But – the Leviathan…." Leni shook her head.

"When Telthan comes in to power, this will be you." Kirk pointed to Spock. "You, and your friends, and your family. This corruption is going to destroy your planet – if you don't fight it."  
"But – we are trapped now," said Shaltan. "The guards say – we are all to die."  
"We – might be able to get you out of here," Kirk said. "The two of you – I'm sorry about the others." 'Prime Directive. Serving or breaking? He didn't care anymore. They'd never get a wide-range scan, and anyway, they'd take the guards with them. But Leni and Shaltan…. "Marat said there were other rebels. Is that true?"

"Yes. Outside."  
"We can take you to them. First, you'll come with us to another place – it will be confusing. You'll see a lot of things that you won't understand. I'm just going to ask you to accept them…then….we'll send you back to Rython."

"I - …." Leni and Shaltan regarded eachother.

"Jim," said McCoy quietly: "Spock's temperature is dropping. I need to get him to Sickbay, now."  
"Scotty, we need those transporters!" Kirk flipped the communicator open, reckless now.

"Coming online now sir!"

"Leni. Come with us. Shaltan."  
"Yes," said the girl.

"Yes?"  
"The last time I trusted, I regretted it. But you are not Marat."  
"Five to beam up, Scotty," kirk said crisply.

"Aye sir!"  
Five forms dematerialised to ethereal shimmers. Somewhere an alarm sounded. Four guards raced into the corridor, too late, and fired at nothing.

"Captain," Spock frowned, "I am not content the Prime Directive was properly upheld on Rython."  
"Explain."  
"The revolution, or potential revolution, we instigated upon leaving. Whilst we believed that Marat was a true Rythonian, there might have been some warrant for intervening on behalf of the rebels. But the former leader of the movement was a spy, without whom, it might well have collapsed before now."  
"But the whole system is artificial," said McCoy. "We've been over this." The three officers sat at a table in the Enterprise rec room, one week after beam-up from the planet. Spock was much recovered from his physical ordeal; another miracle, McCoy admitted, of Vulcan physiology.

"I believe you have a saying on your planet, doctor," Spock said archly: "Two wrongs do not make a right."  
"Besides which, I believe you're worrying over nothing. The Leviathan's government is strong. I wish that Leni and Shaltan and the others did stand a chance of revolution. But I don't think it will happen."  
"But I do," said Kirk. "You didn't see Leni at the end. Neither of you did. Spock, you were unconscious, and the doctor was busy with you. But I saw her eyes. And I know. There will be change on Rython, someday soon."

The Enterprise glided on gracefully, into the starlit vault. Light years away, over Rython, a fast burst of energy wavered then levelled, as a Romulan Warbird uncloaked.

The End.


End file.
